


To Plant an Apple Seed

by Oopsynini



Series: Apple Slices [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate History, Angels can choose their sex, Battle, Blood and Violence, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Blood, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Gender Switching, Historical Plot, Intersex Aziraphale, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Slice of Life, Smut, Swordfighting, Top Crowley (Good Omens), Typical Warzone Violence - Including Child in Danger, injured crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:15:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24441190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oopsynini/pseuds/Oopsynini
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale stood before each other, two opposite forces, meeting over the bloody dust of a battlefield. Neither one wished to say goodbye, to end this happenstance meeting and go back to their respective sides. Aziraphale lets his gaze linger on Crowley's beloved face, which he had grown to miss of recent. He forced himself to turn away and hurried his footsteps as the horn blew once more, adjusting his sword in his grasp while he readied himself to jump back into the fray.They gave each other their goodbyes. Aziraphale lets his gaze linger on Crowley's beloved face, which he had grown to miss of recent.Oh, stop that, you silly heart.he scolded that fluttering feeling in his chest that always came upon him when around Crowley of late. He knew it was love, he wasn't daft, but it didn't make it any less of a nuisance when it came down to it. Love was sticky; it got everywhere and just lingered eagerly for every tidbit of affection thrown its way. Love would get them killed one day.A fortuitous meeting over the battlefields of a Mongolian war throw together an angel and a demon, and by chance, creates a small seed of a child within Aziraphale.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Apple Slices [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1744975
Comments: 63
Kudos: 225





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally deleted a chapter to this fic. It was originally 3 chapters, and the pacing just felt trash...but I didn't mean to get rid of all that hard work dangit. I've temporarily fixed it, but I'm gonna have to go back in and revise this poor beasty this weekend, sorry for the errors 2/23/2021

_China - Jin Jurchen Dynasty_

_13_ _ th _ _Century_

The thirteenth-century had been a rather dowdy moment in time for China. A time of feuding and war. Of clashing Empires and growing Dynasties. In this, there was not much difference between them and the rest of the world. Just humans striving to make borders and claim territory, that is, until the Mongols came. There is a particularly apt poem, written by one Yuan Haowen, Chinese official, that just about summed up the experience.

_White bones scattered_

_like tangled hemp,_

_how soon before mulberry and catalpa_

_turn to dragon-sands?_

_I only know north of the river_

_there is no life:_

_crumbled houses, scattered chimney smoke_

_from a few homes_.

In the years to follow, Aziraphale would come to find that poem described those years quite well. Blood and death and battles and miracles that made way for more blood, and death, and battles. It’d been unending in those days. He was a white grain of sand amongst a tide of black darkness, hoping to make himself shine enough to make it _better._ If only for a moment.

Crowley, on the other hand, had been doing very well for himself at that point in time. The temptations practically created themselves. During those dark years, he earned quite the backlog of accolades for his part. Especially that bit with Genghis Khan, that’d been a thing.

All of which was so far in the past it might not seem to have much bearing on the present. Except for one brilliant seed that would come into being on a winter’s night, and come to fruit some eight-hundred odd years later.

* * *

Aziraphale ran towards the stone wall of Kaifeng's protective ramparts, eyes set on the hewn stone walls that bordered the city. There were two sets; an outer wall, that was currently being breached by the Mongol hoards, and the inner, which he was running toward, sword gripped in one palm, the other wrapped about the waist of a small child.

She was no more than four years of age, her eyes red and leaking with tears, dark hair matted with blood and other such ick. Aziraphale thought his armor was difficult to cling to, but she hung tight none the less, her small fingers digging into the pinches and crevices so that he could feel them against the quilted padding underneath. The metal of his armor was heavy on his shoulders, and his heart even more so. Oh, how he hated this, how could people with so much good in their hearts do so much bad?

The battle raged on. 

Shouting and looting and more destruction than should be seen by men who were of rational mind and body. The Emperor was gone, he'd left them to fend for themselves under the guardianship of an inept Captain, and his soldiers were falling under pressure. The Jin Jurchen empire would fall. The only question now was, when?

He cried out as an iron-bomb (his side, why was his side throwing bombs at him?!) descended right in their path, and he quickly miracled it towards the Mongol army, and away from the Jin warriors. The blast that followed sent snow-covered dirt and shrapnel flying. He covered his charges small head with his palm to protect her from it, a task made difficult by his drawn sword. He managed to evade further combat, arriving it to the entryway of Song Gate, just as the doors began to close. 

"Wait!" He shouted the strength of his voice alone enough to stop the mechanisms in their tracks and bring the gates to a standstill. His armor clanged and clacked as he made it the last few meters, handing the young child off to a woman who came running, sobbing her name and reaching for the girl with love in her eyes. Nodding his thanks to the guards, he turned back to the battle, grim hearted, but with purpose. There were more innocent people out there, and he would do his part to save them. One grain against a tide.

* * *

Crowley madly dashed beside General Subutai of the Mongol army. The General stood tall on his large stallion, the beast untroubled by the ongoing battle, barely noticing the blast of bombs or the shouts of the enemy. He struggled to keep up to the hulking creature's pace. His legs kicking up swathes of snow, the chill winter air a rush in his lungs. "I'm just saying it'd be fun to give them a bit of a head start, you know, do all of the looting and the destroying when the buildings are empty. Cleaner too, imagine having to clean all that blood of the loot. What a nightmare!" He persuaded, the roll of his hip only slightly hampered by the weight of his heavy lamellar scale armor. 

"And who are you, red-haired demon?"

Crowley blinked, that was a bit on the nose, "Oh, you know, just a concerned soldier looking to loot. I like my loot intact, love it really. Nobody wants to buy a mattress with blood on the sheets. Well, somebody will, it just wouldn't fetch the best price, you see?" Hell and Heaven, he didn't know why he was even trying. There had been no talking sense into the horde. Not since he'd started Genghis Khan out on this whole charade, and here it was, the fruits of his efforts, six years after the idiot's death, and still trying to slow the proverbial snowball down. It'd become something of an avalanche though, well beyond his control. It was some sort of moral greyness that had brought him here. A need to stop this destruction that he'd started. One man against the oncoming slide.

The war horse snorted, spittle staining Crowley's front and freezing immediately in the winter chill. "Awww…that's disgusting." That seemed to be a dismissal, seeing as the General kicked the steed into some form of a canter, racing forward and beheading some poor fellow with his scimitar. Crowley wrinkled his nose. A nasty bit of business that, he wasn't one of those demon's who thrived on death, no that wasn't his style at all. 

"Well I tried, I truly did!" Throwing his hands up in the air and gesturing to the sky in desperation. Realizing what he was doing, he turned his gaze down hurriedly; the demon wouldn't want to give Her the impression he was on Her side. "Right, best be off then. No point in lingering for all the bloodshed."

It was as he turned that he saw him, or saw his aura mostly. The armor hid his usual coif of pale hair, and his familiar face was turned down to the ground, making his corporeal form unrecognizable. That aura though, the bright, vibrant thing that it was made his angel hard to miss. It was a sight for war-dulled eyes. He hadn't seen feather nor halo of Aziraphale in decades, not since this kerfuffle with Genghis had begun.

"Angel?" His voice rang out across the battlefield, causing the other man to lift his head and look around. He was kneeling by a dead body, possibly checking a pulse, the hopeful, silly man. Given the amount of guts that had spilled out from the corpse's insides, he was of the opinion that there wasn't going to be much worth saving. When the angel looked up, it was with sad eyes, stained red with tears. Oh, poor thing, he took human death so personally. The smile that lit on his face was beatific, though tarnished by circumstances. 

"Crowley? What are you doing here?" Aziraphale stumbled to his feet, casting one last glance at the man on the ground before quickly brushing his tears from his cheeks. His eyes lingered on Crowley's familiar face. The demon wasn't wearing a helmet, no doubt for fashion sake, his hair was a glossy red confection, pulled up into a tight braid onto the top of his skull and shaved with aggressive finesse on either side. The latest Mongol fashion, no doubt. Cocking his head, his smile faded as he eyed the demon up and down. "This isn't your doing, is it, demon?"

Crowley groaned, hating the note of betrayal in the angel's voice. Flustered, he couldn't help but look away, the man getting his leg blown off across the battlefield more pleasant than Aziraphale's disappointment. "Would it comfort you to know I tried to stop it?" He questioned, gesturing expansively. "Humans are remarkably persistent once you get them started on something!" 

Aziraphale sighed, but could not stay upset, nodding his head. "Oh, indeed, you should have seen how excited they were about gun powder! I hadn't anticipated it go off with such a bang." They both giggled, the sound drowned out by the noise of actual explosives as another bomb went off nearby, followed by the sound of a horn. Aziraphale frowned. "That'd be my side giving the retreat. Should be off." He explained, turning his head to look towards the inner city walls. 

Crowley followed his gaze; the capital was in ruins, his side was making sure of that. "Of course, be careful, Angel. This won't end well on your side of things."

Aziraphale paused, fingers twisting on the hilt of his sword, his shoulders slumping for a moment. "Ah, yes, well... not all battles are won on the field," he had tried so hard to miracle them a win or two. His efforts had been thrashed, even now he knew it was hopeless, "It's just for now, though, good always wins, in the end." He perked at that, it was best to keep looking at the bigger picture. "Maybe we'll catch up sometime when War isn't tarnishing the scenery?" 

"Of course, I wouldn't miss it."

They gave each other their goodbyes. Aziraphale lets his gaze linger on Crowley's beloved face, which he had grown to miss of recent. He forced himself to turn away and hurried his footsteps as the horn blew once more, adjusting his sword in his grasp while he readied himself to jump back into the fray.

_Oh stop that, you silly heart_ , he scolded that fluttering feeling in his chest that always came upon him when around Crowley of late. He knew it was love, he wasn't daft, but it didn't make it any less of a nuisance when it came down to it. Love was sticky; it got everywhere and just lingered eagerly for every tidbit of affection thrown it's way. 

"Angel?"

Aziraphale paused at the sound of his nickname, could hardly resist the call as he turned on his heel to face Crowley once more. One look said Crowley was feeling the same way. That lingering yearning that neither of them could admit too, but both felt deep into their eternal souls. He smiled at the sad secret longing he could see mirrored on Crowley's face, his heart doing the damn fluttering thing again. 

"Yes, Crowley?" The demon's lips flapped, and for a moment, he looked lost for words. Had he even considered what he wanted to say before speaking? Aziraphale let him stew in his own awkwardness for a moment if only to see the way his expressive mouth work, seeking out an excuse. Oh, how delightful that mouth was, warm lips and scruffy jaw, the face was lovely as well. 

"I just thought, if it's alright with you," Crowley stepped forward, reaching out an arm as if to ask Aziraphale to move closer. Aziraphale sighed, his heart eagerly encouraging his feet to take the short walk back to Crowley's side, there went that sticky feeling, always drawing them back together. 

"Well, I had a thought that," What was he saying, Satan he was an idiot, and was he blushing, why was he blushing? "After this bit of business is done, would you join me for a b-" Crowley stammered out, cursing himself internally even as his words were cut off by the sound of approaching feet, pounding upon the muddied ground. Crowley had only a moment to react to the noise, turning to see the rushing form of a Jin warrior coming directly for _him_. 

"Oh, bugger," he growled, narrowly managing to draw his blade in time to block the Jin's blow. 

"For the Emperor!" The warrior shouted, his face twisted with determination, the sound of their blades meeting crashing through the air. Aziraphale stared at the oncoming human in confusion; for a brief moment, he'd forgotten where they were. A massive armored shoulder collided with his just, and let out an indignant sound as he was shoved to the side by his once comrade, his armor mucking up his center of gravity and making him reel.

"What in the- Seriously!?" Crowley locked eyes with Aziraphale, the two of them sharing a look. Humans. The warrior shoved his weight against the steel of his blade, propelling Crowley backward. He grunted, staggering back a step and almost getting his bearing before his heels collided with the body of a fallen warrior. 

Crowley fell onto the muddied ground, grunting his disgust as his head squished against something that stank of guts. This whole place really was too similar to Hell, he had never liked Hell. "Well, now look what you've done, bloody imbecile." He snarled up at the warrior, muddied snow flying as he slapped the damp ground for emphasis. The man switched his grip on his blade, directing it downward toward Crowley, and Crowley raised his sword, blocking one blow, then the next. Scrambling backward, he tried to regain some ground he could escape the next strike, but there was no time to block the weapon.

Aziraphale saw Crowley fumble and fail to raise his sword in time. He saw the weapon's downward thrust and launched himself toward that blade, breath coming in a ragged gasp as his scimitar deflected it to the side. It wasn't enough, and he choked out a sound of shock as he watched the blade slip between the chinks in Crowley's armor and struck the flesh beneath, sinking in with a deep squelch.

"Ah!" Crowley's shriek burst forth, the sound of it fogging in the icy air. His body jerked as sword met the earth beneath him with a hollow slough of metal hitting the ground. Pain, slithering, gut wrapping pain, firing up his belly. All of his breath left him, and he gasped in shock, his own sword suddenly to heavy to hold. Mouth agape he sagged back against the soggy ground, his hands groping the metal that bisected him.

If he thought it hurt going in, the out was even worse. Crowley scream, his cry tapering out into a snarl as the metal left his belly with a sickening squelch. "Fucking Hell! I'm not even fighting back you dilly-faced-hog-wart!" He choked out around the pain as it balled up around his middle, twisting his face into the icy snow-packed beneath his cheek. 

"Die Mongol scum!" 

Aziraphale cried out in distress at the horrid sound coming from the demon, time freezing for a moment as he watched the human raise his weapon to finish the job. The curved metal fell through the air, and Aziraphale jerked free from his stupor. A shout of relief tore past his throat as his blade collided with the downward trajectory of the other, stopping the sword inches away from beheading the red-haired demon. His biceps strained as he thrust tit back and away, moving to stand over Crowley in a defensive position.

"What are you doing, Aziraphale?! Why do you protect the Mongol trash?" The soldier questioned.

"I don't answer to you." Aziraphale snorted, turning his nose up at the other man. "I will have you know you just stabbed someone tremendously important to me, and I won't stand for it!" He berated the human with righteous outrage, stepping back to take a fighting stance. With ease, he leveled his sword at the human who had dared to harm his Crowley. He put aside his racing fear at seeing the demon stabbed, his corporeal form skewered like so much meat. 

Unnoticed by the angel, a Mongol soldier by the name of Batu, stood in the distance and caught sight of the two Jin. They were arguing over the fallen form of his comrade, one he recognized by his flaming hair. The view was enough to urge him to take aim with his bow. He did not, and had never, liked Crowley, but it was the principal of the thing. 'You kill mine. I kill yours,' or something similar. So, in retaliation for the comrade that he did not care for, but would eagerly avenge, he put finger bowstring and pulled tight, releasing it and sending an arrow flying towards the unsuspecting Jin soldiers. 

Now, Batu had trained since the tender age of six with his bow. To say he was more than adept at its use and handling was an understatement. His aim rang exact and fast, sending the arrow flying the distance with an accuracy that only a true master archer could have. In seven years, he had never missed his mark, a record he carried with much pride.

In any other instance, his target would end up an unsuspecting pincushion, but Aziraphale had once been the Guardian Principality of the Eastern Gate. Which meant that, despite his sometimes peaceful demeanor. He was, in fact, trained in the art of war, or at least the art of guarding. And so, it took only seven seconds for Aziraphale to break Batu's record. 

Shifting the weight of his sword, he twisted his wrist, spinning the blade in an expert move he had perfected long ago at the gates of Eden with a fiery sword. It was that fortuitous moment the arrow chose to descend from the sky, and with a swoosh and a clatter of shattered wood, the angel sliced it from the air.

To say that all present were justly surprised was an understatement. Meters away, Batu stood stunned and chose that moment to pack up his quiver and walk away. Crowley had stolen his gelug robe once and had never paid him back for it, he no doubt deserved what he had coming for him. Aside from that, anyone with that sort of swordsmanship had a right to live. 

For his part, Aziraphale attempted to look like he'd done the deed on purpose, barely glancing at the arrow before swinging his sword once more in a manner most threatening. He was understandably out of practice. It had been many millennia since Eden, and some might say he lost his touch.

The Jin soldier chose to also stare in stunned silence, glancing between the felled arrow and Aziraphale, all manner of fearful things rolling in his head before he dropped his weapon and ran. 

"What the bloody fuck?!" Crowley slurred from his position on the ground. Even to his own ears, he sounded pain drunk and like he might be seeing double. What had he just seen?

Aziraphale watched the warriors retreating back before jumping in place, relishing the moment of triumph, armor clanging haphazardly. "Did you see that Crowley?!" He questioned, turning to look back at Crowley, expression jubilant. A squeak of distress slipped his lips as he caught sight of the fallen demon and remembered what had happened. "Oh, dear! Crowley?!" Rushing forward, he stumbled in his haste to get to the other man's side, heart in his throat as he caught sight of the black-as-night demon blood that was spreading in an ever-widening pool around the other man. 

"That was fucking fantastic, did you plan that?" Crowley queried through gritted teeth, watching the soldier's retreating back with dismay. He hissed absently, sliding a hand under his armor so he could press it tight to the entrance of the wound, which was alarmingly slippery from blood, sitting a few inches to the right of his belly button. Aziraphale reached out, and his hands were shockingly warm as they helped him to sit up. Wasn't he the warm one typically? He felt a bit of a chill now, winter creeping into his bones from the hard ground. 

"Of course I didn't plan it." Aziraphale hissed, just as stunned. Fussing he tried to dust mud from Crowley's cheeks, before turning his attention to the injury "This is horrible, Crowley, they've hit your ethereal core, what are you feeling, can you see anything?" 

"What are you on about," Crowley rolled his eyes, though he was reasonably concerned about the wound, he wouldn't say so aloud, "I'm not walking to the light or anything Angel. I'm fine." Was what he tried to say, but the words came out slurred and nonsensical, so he settled for action instead. Teeth grinding, he grunted as he struggled to get his feet underneath him. It was a fight with the ground to stand, but he managed with Aziraphale's help. Choking back a groan of pain, he let his head fall back to look at the grey sky, drawing in a few breaths for strength as he managed to straighten.

"I believe that this standing business might be a horrible, terrible idea," Aziraphale hurriedly protested upon seeing Crowley climb to his feet. He tried his best to help Crowley stand, lending his shorter frame to lean on despite his protests. He looped one long arm over his shoulders, cocking a hip to keep the taller man semi-upright. His hands shook where they clung, one to Crowley's waist, the other holding the arm that hooked over his shoulder. His heart was in his throat, and he had never felt so worried in all his years.

"Crowley, darling, answer me. Should we be standing? Maybe you should lay down and let me have a look?" Aziraphale questioned.

"Nah! I'm up- let'sssss, hmmm, let'sss go to my tent." Oh no, Crowley was hissing, he never hissed unless he was feeling the big feelings, like fear or worry or pain. Aziraphale whined under his breath, unable to help but protest. That wasn't such a bad idea though, they could hide in the tent and fix Crowley up. Probably best considering the number of near-discorporation experiences they'd just experienced.

"Yes, show me the way."

The journey to the enemy encampment was an extended one, as it was on the other side of the battlefield. Crowley's tent was even further than that, propped up on the outskirts of the encampment. Aziraphale had to stop twice along the way to give Crowley a break. Finally, just proceeding to carry the lanky demon. He wasn't light, but Aziraphale had enough muscles after years of battle to hold his weight, even if it was a bit difficult and cumbersome. Crowley's face was currently pressed into the swell of his neck, each step pronounced by a deep whine as he was jostled. He had almost forgotten what cold felt like, after his fall, and he shivered in Aziraphale's arms, altogether miserable.

Ordinarily, Crowley's skin burned with the internal fires of Hell and to find his skin so cold was alarming. Aziraphale worried, turning his head he pressed a fervent kiss to the demon's brow, those sticky feelings making his heart hurt and his face pinch with concern. His front was damp where Crowley's wound pressed against his armor, and he dared not think about why, especially as his skin started to tingle with the acid burn of demonic essence.

"Shhhh, my slithery fiend. We'll get you out of the cold and nice and warm. I have a lovely mead I can warm up, won't that be nice? Take some of the edge off." Crowley moaned, seeming to like the idea, so Aziraphale dug his boots into the ground harder, trying to speed up the journey. 

"Here, we are!" Aziraphale said with forced joviality, ducking past the fur-lined door and into the circular tent. A wave of warmth hit him, and he sighed in relief. It was ever so Crowley inside, the sleeping mat lined in matching black furs from some beast or another, the floor likewise covered to stave off the winter chill. There were empty cups and swords, daggers, and other accouterments of the warrior class strewn about. In the corner was a small potted evergreen, the twiggely branches having seen better days, though it looked to be improving, judging by the new needles growing in.

A fire still burnt cheerily in the center of the tent, no doubt stoked by some hellish means, going by the sheer strength of the flames. A hole in the roof allowed the smoke to funnel out. Settling Crowley down on the sleeping mat, he sat up and examined the poor man in the firelight.

"Right, let's get this armor off, I want to see what is what."

Crowley chuckled under his breath, the sound turning pained as his middle lit up with each scrap of armor he displaced. "This is not the way I anticssssipated you ssseeing me naked." He grouched breathlessly, raising one arm to allow Aziraphale the privilege of removing the pauldrons from his shoulders.

Aziraphale sputtered, ducking his head and fiddling with the laces of the shoulder plates until they came undone. "Must you be so vulgar?"

"That'sss vulgar? Angel, we haven't been mingling enough if _that_ isss what you consssider vulgar!" Crowley exclaimed, the protest lackluster at best and almost inaudible through all the hissing. The chest armor went next and, ye hell on earth was it horrible. Cursing vehemently under his breath about patriotic warriors and their stupid swords, he managed to bat Aziraphale's hand away long enough to peer down at the hole that marred his belly.

"Oh, that's not good." He pressed a hand to the open wound, which seemed to be leaking far more steadily, without the restrictive pressure of the armor. His back blazed with a matching pain that he could not reach. He wasn't used to seeing his own blood strewn about and freely spilling. It all made him feel a bit woozy, actually. 

Aziraphale felt his own features turn grim at the sight of so much blood. "No, not good at all." He admitted, prodding the flesh around Crowley's exploring fingers with careful touches of his own. Deep, black as night blood spilled from the wound. It glittered and sparked with the light of a thousand stars. His side always spieled about how dirty and tarnished demons were. He had not expected such beauty they could be if one did not account for the source, a touch of the midnight sky glimmering there within the fur walls of the hut. 

If one did account for the source, it was very alarming.

"Dearest, how is your core feeling?" Aziraphale questioned, glancing up at Crowley's face from under pale lashes. His eyes were nothing but pupil, the black swallowing the yellow down to a thin ring if color. Aziraphale's fingers lingered on blood-stained skin a moment longer before he turned away to find something to pack the wound with. It was near impossible to bend over the man in his armor as he was, so he miracled his armor away, leaving himself in warm winter robes. Bandages, bandages were useful, he had plenty of those to care for humans, he dug them from the pouch he carried at his side. 

"I'm-a bit fuzzy, actually…" Crowley admitted swaying in his seated position. He felt confused, his head a muddle of pain and blood loss. 

Aziraphale nodded; that was to be expected he supposed when one was punctured like a melon. He didn't even consider healing Crowley himself. He was an angel, and Crowley, a demon, as far as he knew their powers directly contradicted each other. Balling up a wad of fabric and pressing it to the open wound was the best course of action. The blade had pierced through Crowley's torso, coming out the small of his back, so he did a similar thing there, squeezing the material into place. The blood burnt his hands, but he could ignore it for now. Taking up the bandages, he wound them about Crowley's waist in haphazard loops that soon had his whole middle covered. Crowley swayed in his arms, the weight of his head thumping against Aziraphale's shoulder.

"Crowley?" Aziraphale made a worried little noise in the back of his throat, rubbing his palm along Crowley's back in soothing circles. _My poor demon._ He thought, no sure when the demon had become _his_ , but it felt right.

"That'sss nice…" Crowley settled there, against warm pale skin, taking comfort from Aziraphale's gentle touch. The darkness creeping across his vision, going unnoticed until Aziraphale called his name, "Hnnnn?" Reaching out, he wrapped his hand around Aziraphale's, where it pressed to his bandaged middle, staring down at it as the angel shifted his blood-tinged fingers so he could squeeze the digits. The touch was warm and comforting. 

"Crowley, my love, don't you faint on me, I will be most upset if you pass out before you tell me what to do!" 

"My love?" He whispered the words against Aziraphale's skin, had he heard that correctly?

"Of course. You are ever so important to me."Aziraphale's chest hummed, the sound reverberating against Crowley's ear.

Crowley fought that encroaching darkness and the weight of fog that slowly came over him. Struggling to keep hold of those words, they felt important, so unbelievably important. But oh, was that darkness calling him. This had never happened before, was this what a human death felt like? 

He couldn't die, discorporation was the likelier outcome, though one he didn't care to think about. He had come to like this form. It was a nicely made thing, with long limbs and gruff voice, and the hair was fantastic, he would hate to see it go. If he lost this vessel, he would have to possess some imperfect human. Human vessels were gross things, with all sorts of needs and upkeep.

He couldn't feel Aziraphale's hand on his anymore. Oh, he's dropped it, the last of his strength fading rapidly with the spill of his shimmering blood. It was becoming more and more difficult to fight that welcoming shadow. Letting out a tired sigh, the darkness pulled him under, he sunk into it like Hell's twisted abyss.

Aziraphale caught him as he went limp, sighing unhappily, but giving that lax body a squeeze before gently easing him to the furs. Eyes stinging with unshed tears, he gave his demon a gentle shake. "Crowley dearest, please don't. Not after I just told you that!" When he didn't wake up, Aziraphale shook the injured man harder than pressed his fingers to Crowley's neck. A pulse was unreliable since Crowley could choose whether to have one or not, but he does find one there. It's a weak, thready thing, but comforting in its existence. His fingers leave behind sticky black prints of blood on his demon's neck, and for a moment, they look like the hand of Death reaching for Crowley, how morbid.

"Right, don't you dare discorporate on me, Crowley!" He warned, turning from the demon to search for a pot. The least he could do was clean the fellow up, and he needed something to occupy his hands. He found nothing because, of course, his demon didn't eat. With a huff, he miracled his own, filling it with snow and setting it over the fire with care. There was no human medicine that could help metaphysical beings such as them. So the only option was to wait and see if the injury would resolve itself or bring Crowley to an early end. 

_That's horrible, don't think of it, you dolt._ Aziraphale reprimanded himself. 

Dunking a ripped up shirt into the warming snow in the pot, he waited impatiently for it to heat. His heart was jittery with worry. He feared the amount of blood spilling from the wound. Even now, it did not seem to end, bubbling up from around the bandages he'd applied. 

He almost spilled the water, taking it down from the fire, but managed to keep most of it in the pot. Settling beside the bed, he took a rag and whipped those fingerprints from Crowley's long neck. Goosebumps rose where warm water touched cold skin, and Aziraphale studied them with care, turning his gaze up to look at Crowley's face. His glasses were still on, poor thing. He gently removed them, setting them to the side so he could better see what lay underneath. 

Even in rest, Crowley's features were twisted in pain, a wrinkle skewing the skin between his brows. It did little to hide his beauty, though. Chiseled features, stained with an ever-present stubble. Soft lips placed just above a cleft chin, they looked plump and welcoming, those lips. Aziraphale blushed, turning his eyes away from that temptation. Crowley would be smirking now if he was awake. 

Foolish sticky love. 

Turning his attention to other matters, he took to cleaning the snow and mud from Crowley's hair. Removing the leather toggle from where it wrapped the base of his braid, he carefully unwound the locks. It took a bit of wrangling, but he managed to dip the long strands in the pot, swishing them about until the battlefield washed off. If his hands lingered a little too long on his soft scalp and long locks, no one was there to notice, and Crowley didn't seem to mind. He'd never touched the other man's hair before. It was delicate and clung to his skin in eager clumps, twisting around fingers like friendly snakes. He lingered for a moment, letting the brush of fingers through damp strands calm his panic down to a bearable thrum. He carefully spread it out over the furs, allowing the strands to dry in the warmth of the tent.

There was nothing more to do after that, but wait and hope. Sliding to the floor, Aziraphale settled next to the bed mat, draping his body against the slightly raised bedding so he could tuck his head into the crook of Crowley's neck. Outside war horns blared. The shouts of pain and fear silenced this far from the battlefield. He stayed that way until the moon hung in the sky, holding vigil beside his friend. He stayed until he heard the Mongol soldiers return to camp, settling into their tents to rest after a long day of destruction. Waited and hoped for some sort of hellish, or divine intervention. 

Hours after sundown, Crowley's outlook began to look grim. Beside him, the firelight started to dim, the flames dropping from their merry height down to embers in moments. The winter chill crept in almost immediately, fogging his breath in the air. Sitting upright, he looked between those dying embers and Crowley's prone form, heart plummeting down to somewhere in his navel with dread. His eyes prickled with tears, and he held back a sobbed as they spilled over, falling from his cheeks. 

The onset of darkness made it difficult to see, so he sent his aura out, letting it light up the room in a soft halo of light. The bandages were dark in the heavenly glow, glimmering with multifaceted twinkles as demon blood eagerly sought the light, soaking through the thin fabric. Peeling them away, he pressed fingers to the torn skin. It hadn't taken to healing itself as it should, which was confounding. They were immortal beings, things like this didn't usually stick!

His tears spilled onto the dark blood that seeped from the injury, and where they dropped, the blood fizzled, flaring bright and aggressive. He flinched, quickly wiping at his face to stop the tears from further corruption of his demon. It was as he had thought, their powers directly contradicted each other. Light to dark; opposing forces. 

Then, to his surprise, the broken skin tried to heal itself, binding together where his essence touched it. He stared, wide-eyed at this new occurrence, watching as his light fought with the darkness until it was swallowed by the blood and become impotent.

Aziraphale had a thought, a shocking, world-twisting thought; he could heal angels, humans, and the creatures of the earth. Could he heal demons too?

Behind him, the last embers of the fire died, taking with them last of the warm orange light. In front of him, Crowley's chest stilled. Aziraphale's heart stilled with it, as Crowley's corporal form began to fade.

"No!" The word left his lips, broken and desperate.

There was no time to overthink his actions. He _had_ to stop this, Crowley could not leave him, not now, not ever. Ripping at what was left of the demon's tunic free, he bared Crowley's chest to his holy light. Without waiting, Aziraphale clapped his hand onto it, right over that death-stilled heart. He had to screw his eyes closed against the sight of Crowley disappearing before him. With a shout, he shoved all his power down and into what remained of Crowley's form. It was a haphazard, sledgehammer of a thing, with very little finesse. His own body felt strangely empty for a moment as his power was sent outward, but it had to work, it was all he could think to do. 

"You are not allowed to go yet, Crowley." He snarled, for all the world looking like an avenging angel. "I have some very sticky things to discuss with you!" And then he used his imagination; he imagined warm marigold eyes, alive with mischief, Hell-hot skin, and soft exhales of breath around a scoff of disdain. He imagined sun-touched abs, undamaged by injury and whole. Finally, he imagined warm, kissable lips, pressing to his own as they whispered words of undying affection, with arms that wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him in close for comfort. 

Beneath his hand, there was a soft croak. It was to quiet to hear over the pulse of his own power in his ears. Then a gentle touch to his hand, where it rested on Crowley's chest. 

"Aziraphale?" 

Aziraphale blinked, opening his eyes with a gasp as he caught his name on beloved lips. "Crowley?!" He let out a sob of relief as his eye latched onto the demons. Crowley was glowing, a pure, fervent light that seeped from his very pores. His eyes shown with Aziraphale's grace, white and phosphorescent, like two moons. 

"Oh, oh dear." he gasped in surprise.

Crowley's hand over his squeezed gently. "Aziraphale, I think that's enough?" 

Aziraphale choked, cutting off his power so that they were suddenly cast in darkness. Relief overwhelmed him and sobbed, tears coming in full force, before throwing his arms around Crowley and without further thought, desperately pressed his lips to the demon's mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the sex! I am anti-overtagging for sexual interactions since I don't want a wall of tags, but for those who want a little more info this chapter is going to contain (spoiler alert):  
> Blow Jobs, Gender Swaps, Minor Pain Kinks (like squint and you'll see it), Penis, Vagina, Penises in Vaginas, Fingering, First Times and Dirty Talk. I think that's it, I can add more if needed!

Hell hot arms wrapped tight around Aziraphale's middle, dragging him in close so their noses bumped together and their bodies slotted in like broken pieces finally made whole. This was not the first time they had tried this, but it was the first time it did not feel terribly awkward and end in a tremendous amount of squawking on Crowley's part, followed by a century of awkward silence. 

Instead, this time, Crowley's large hand palmed the back of his head, pulling him down to the demon's level and then drawing his smaller body across until his back hit the bed furs. He sobbed as Crowley's weight settled above him, lips warm and wet and alive. 

"How dare you try to discorporate on me!" He whispered desperately against those soft lips, the taste of his fear salty on the shared space between their mouths. 

Crowley broke the kiss, and Aziraphale could barely see the look of consternation on his face. "It wasn't on purpose! Besides, it wouldn't have been permanent." Aziraphale used the moment to sniff and wipe the tears away before sending his hand seeking down the front of Crowley's chest, skimming over bloodied stained bandages. He sent them away with a thought, cleaning up the mess of blood the easy way this time, so he could run his fingers along unmarred skin and be sure that everything was proper and in its place.

"Do not pretend seeing you die would not be horribly traumatizing for me. I-I love you…I never want to see you go." He whispered, burying his face to Crowley's neck, blushing as he spoke his feeling aloud. It had been so much easier to say earlier, in the heat of the moment, and he was not certain Crowley had even been aware enough to hear them at the time. "How are you feeling?"

Crowley groaned, rolling his eyes into the dark and trying to make light of the weird feelings Aziraphale's confession let up within him. The word love crawling into his wrinkled heart and making it sing for more. Ugh, it made him painfully uncomfortale, "I'm fine. Jesus and Satan's baby, will you just shut up and let me kiss you, you fucking brat?" The truth was he felt drained, his essence not completely recovered, but he was alive and breathing, and even better, had Aziraphale underneath him, tokens of love on his lips. Even if those tokens rubbed the wrong way just a bit. 

Aziraphale laughed, relaxing back into the pillows at the sound of a very healthy, slightly ill-tempered demon. His stomach was a bubble of eager excitement and anticipation. Oh, he had waited centuries for this, "Very well, you can kiss me," His toes tingle in his boots, so he sent those away, digging bare feet into warm furs so he could settle beneath Crowley's weight, turning his lips up for proper attention. His breath still came in hitching gasps. His hands hold a hint of desperation that drew Crowley's notice. 

"Shhh darling, I'm alright." Crowley soothed, needing to cast aside the fear that lingered in the air. He brushed stray locks of hair off of Aziraphale's brow with gentle, soothing caresses, urging the angel to calm. 

"Let me be the judge of that." The angel responded, his fingers biting into the flesh of Crowley's belly before sliding along Crowley's hip to press along the small of his back, seeking any signs of the injury that had once been.

Crowley snorted at his pompous angel, but let him have his way, bending to press lips to lips. Aziraphale tasted of strawberries, and the finest wine, of holy grace, and too many lovely things to be healthy for a demon's constitution. He took his time, opening up eager lips with the fork of his tongue until he could taste Aziraphale in his sinuses and feel him lighting up his soul. Aziraphale sighed eagerly, his legs shifting under Crowley until he was caging in Crowley's hips with soft knees. Aziraphale's palms linger on the small of his back, drawing him in close and tight. 

He felt caged in and owned, it's a bit overwhelming, and he groaned as he broke the kiss, driven away from the righteous taste of it. His Angel was like good alcohol; it takes some getting used to and burns on the tongue. Aziraphale sighed against him, letting him retreat only far enough so he could press his lips feather soft to the cusp of Crowley's chin as he nibbled and lapped on the skin there.

"You taste positively holy." He groaned by way of explanation.

Aziraphale hummed, breath warm, "Does it hurt?" He knew from their previous encounters that Crowley had to willingly defy his own nature just to be near him. He would have felt bad about it, but Crowley seemed to actively seek out that feeling sometimes. He was such a sadist, probably the demon in him, it had to thrive on something other than mischief and temptations. 

"Satan, yes."

"Mmm….good. You deserve it for putting me through that." Aziraphale berated, teeth glinting sharp and wicked in the moonlight. Crowley shifted above him, hips rolling oh so deliciously as he bent to examine Aziraphale's neck with his mouth. Aziraphale turned his head to open the expanse up for Crowley's questing lips, murmuring in content.

"You are a devilish little thing, maybe I _have_ corrupted you," Crowley growled, bowing his head to bite at the offered expanse of Aziraphale's pale neck. It felt right, having access to all of this skin, he had fantasized for centuries about what he would do to Aziraphale's neck. He wanted to see that throat choke on cries of pleasure, to watch it contract around the heady length of his cock as the angel took him down to the base. It'd be positively sinful.

Licking up the long column in farewell, he sat up, fingers moving to the tie at Aziraphale's waist. "Why don't you turn up that glow again?" He purred, eager to see the Angel unwrapped.

Aziraphale whined at the touch of fingers at his waist, an achy, needy sound, even as he let his natural grace free to light the space around them. The light soft and oh so intimate. "Oh, I think I've done a fair amount of self corruption," He admitted, winking up at marigold eyes, his own open and mischievous. Crowley chuckled down at him, seeming to get the innuendo, and Aziraphale watched his long fingers work at the ties of his pale blue robe, peeling back the panels until his pale chest was bared to the light. 

Crowley's tunic was a tattered mess, still clinging to his shoulders. It took little work to drag the fabric down sunkissed shoulders, a sound of appreciation escaping his lips as Crowley gave up on what he was doing, if only long enough to shrug the material away.

"Isn't that a relief, virgins are so…dull." Crowley purred, admiring his handiwork, before reaching out to touch the flat, muscular planes of skin. Aziraphale arched up into his touch, muscles flexing underneath pale skin. War had taken away some of the angel's book-softened curves, leaving him with a smattering of muscles that rolled and tensed under Crowley's hands. "What a pretty thing you are." 

"I quite agree. On both the virgin bit and the pretty bit."

Crowley laughed, delighted, "Vain, beastie." Bowing his spine down, he lapped eagerly at one exposed nipple, twisting his tongue along the little nub and growling when Aziraphale let out a soft, keening sound of approval. His hands urged their two bodies together, dragging their hips in an eager glide of leather on leather. Aziraphale was a hard line of tension against his own swell, the friction achingly sweet and full of anticipation. 

"Are we doing this, darling?" Aziraphale questioned the top of Crowley's head, watching as lips eagerly sucked and bit at his flesh. He did not doubt the demon's eagerness, but the other man had a tendency to ran when things became serious. Pleasure zinged from those sensitive nubs, turning the thoughts in his head to mush, and making his sex aching and hard. He rolled his hips to urge the demon on and grinned when those naughty hands slid underneath to cup the swell of his arse. His own hands were making an eager mess of Crowley's well-groomed hair, pulling the long strands between fingers so he could get the pressure of Crowley's mouth just right.

"Hmmm, not this time love, no backing out now, when I have you laid out like this." Crowley purred against spit dampened skin. Yes, he was aware he could be flighty at times, but it was only because he would hate to ruin whatever this growing thing between them was becoming. Aziraphale's content sigh indicated he was feeling far too pleased with himself, the little shite.

"Now, how do I get the damned belt off?" He growled, forcing himself away from Aziraphale's chest in order to actually look at what he was discussing. The damned thing looked vexingly complicated, a twist of fabric that boggled his sex addled mind. He had no desire to just miracle it away though, it was best to unwrap one's gifts.

Aziraphale was kind enough to assist, giggling his way through unwinding the complicated knots until his waist was free and his trousers finally unleashed from the serpentine cloth. 

"Fantastic, I had half a mind to shred it," Crowley growled, going for the ties to his leathers before the belt had a chance to drop to the floor. Humming eagerly, he pulled and tugged the tight fabric free Aziraphale's hips. The angel aided in no way whatsoever, pillowing his head beneath his arm so he could watch the show comfortably. Crowley chuckled, shimmying the pants from one leg, then the other, until Aziraphale lay on his furs in nothing but silk underclothes that did nothing to hid the tent of his erection. One pale leg crooked in open invitation. He looked like something edible, like a warm sugary delicacy laid out for Crowley's eyes alone. 

Stepping back to get a good look, Crowley was drooling, his hunger for the angel growing to a raging fire in his belly. Aziraphale preened under his gaze, stretching out in a slow glide of muscle, until his toes turned pink and his belly went taught, his erection bobbing with the movement. "Do you see what you've been missing, my persnickety fellow?" He crooned, the sound music to Crowley's ears as the angel shifted a hand down his belly to palm the swell of his sex with a sigh.

That had him choking on his own saliva and leaping up from the bed, his eyes wide at the sight. Who would have known the angel could be such a minx in bed? Crowley had met streetwalkers who had less confidence than his angel. "You, Satan, you are completely absurd. Has anybody ever told you you're supposed to be an _angel?"_ Crowley questioned, watching Aziraphale's hand with enraptured fascination as it dipped beneath the blue silk of his underclothes. "You were whining about taking my clothes off earlier!"

Aziraphale moaned lewdly, taking himself in hand and giving his sex a slow caress. "There is a difference when it's in the bedroom, isn't there? Besides, I have been informed on several occasions that I make a terrible excuse for an angel. Some of them by you, actually!" He admitted, not in the least repentant.

He was of the opinion that anything She created was worth trying once, and in the case of carnal delights, multiple times. The look on Crowley's face was enough of a reason to give in to her basest of activities. Oh, how beautiful it was, that look, somewhere between possessive and hungry with that hint of uncertainty that always seemed to linger in golden depths. "Should I remove these?" Aziraphale questioned, eyes flickering down to his undergarment by way of explanation.

"Satan, no, I'd have a brain bleed." Crowley groaned, rocking on his heels, eyes locked on whatever Aziraphale's hands were doing under that bit of cloth. "I'm tempted to leave you there with your own hand for company." He teased, bending to unlace first one boot, then the other, thrusting them to the side. His hands trembled as he slipped off his leather trousers, his own undergarments woefully absent. This was happening, and even demons could have nerves over first times, whether it was with a filthy angel or not.

 _Get yourself together, you dunce. This has been what you dreamed of for eons!_ It was just a bit much, a little sudden, a tad surprising, that was all. 

Aziraphale whistled low under his breath as he caught sight of Crowley's hard self, "You've not been wearing undergarments this entire time? Dear me, that's a treasure to think about." He teased, blue eyes lingering on the stark jut of Crowley's sex from his hips. His keen eyes caught on to the nervous tremor that had taken to Crowley's hands. He knew Crowley well enough to see when the silly man was overthinking things. He didn't mention it out loud, instead holding a hand out to bring the other man in close once more. "Come here. I want to touch you." He commanded, smiling when the demon followed his demand without question.

Sauntering the few steps back to the bedside, Crowley accepted his hand, Aziraphale's appreciative gaze a balm to his nerves. Aziraphale tugged and pulled him downward, fingers going from his wrist to his elbow and from elbow to shoulder until he was drawing their lips back into that aching rhythm of tongue on tongue. Crowley moaned eagerly, then laughed as Aziraphale used his distraction to yank him down to the furs. With a huff of displaced air, he found himself on his back, Aziraphale straddling his hips with a soft "Hup!" of effort.

It was a spectacular position really, Aziraphale felt his buttocks settle against that lovely cock and rolled his hips down onto it with an eager glide of silk on flesh. Crowley was a thin rail of bone between his thigh, jutting points, and skin hot as iron. His sex peaked out from between Aziraphale's parted thighs, the ruddy color of it in stark contrast to his own pale skin. "Mmm…have I ever told you how precious you are to me?" Aziraphale questioned, taking that warm flesh in hand and working it with a slow twist of his wrist. Crowley let out a gut-wrenching noise, his hips bucking underneath Aziraphale, sending him rocking on his knees. 

"Oh please, none of that lovey stuff, it'll make me gag." Crowley protested the blush that flushed his cheeks was a delightful shade of pink. Aziraphale laughed, scootching himself backward until he could bow down to the heady shaft of Crowley's sex in supplication, wishing the constricting fabric of his under-silks away with a thought. 

Crowley settled back on the furs, and for a time, there is no thinking. Aziraphale's hands were on him, tugging and pulling until he was fully erect and aching for more. His lips were making marks along Crowley's throat and down until he was biting against each line of Crowley's ribs. Sucking dark love bites onto his flesh and dragging nails down his sides in the most glorious almost ache that he'd ever felt. Oh, fucking ecstasy!

Crowley shouted as Aziraphale's pert lips folded around the head of his cock. "Satan, you glorious fucking hellion," Digging one hand into the furs, he braced the other on pale curls and rolled his hips, urging the other man down until that open heat smothered him. He watched with rapt attention as Aziraphale took him down without complaint. It was glorious, so much better than he imagined. The sounds were magnificent, soft choked noises and greedy gasps for oxygen, followed by heady moans the vibrated against his cock head and made him jump.

Poised as he was, the angel's oh-so-pretty and pert arse was quite visible, thanks to the way his back bowed. He'd lost his underthings somewhere along the way. Crowley hissed at the sight of pale arse cheeks gleaming in the glowing light.

"You're going to unravel me." Crowley moaned, turning his gaze down and watching saliva gather around the where Aziraphale's swollen lips wrapped around his flesh. It was a lovely slippery secretion that spilled from between the seam of Aziraphale's lips and down the hard line of his sex, leaving him moist and glistening. Sitting up higher on his elbows, he dug his heels into the furs as he watched Aziraphale's cheeks hollow around the head of him. A hand splayed across Crowley's belly, pressing down to ease the roll of his hips to something manageable. 

Crowley's brain just about imploded when he caught sight of blue hooded eyes gazing up at him. Aziraphale, watching him turn into little more than wicked goo. Satan, that was sexy. He wanted the angel's eyes on him, eating him up. "Do you like seeing me come undone?" Crowley hissed, letting his head fall back, so the long length of his neck was exposed to those eager eyes. Dragging a palm upward, he squeezed his own nipple, a sultry chuckle slipping from his lips as Aziraphale moaned his approval.

There was a soft popping sound, followed by the rush of cool air as Aziraphale's mouth left him. "Show off for me, darling, God, touch yourself. I want to see what you like." 

"Don't bring Her into the bedroom, sweetling. I don't think She'd approve." Crowley teased, leaning his weight on one arm so he could use the other to dive down the length of his tanned belly. He cupped his length, finding confidence under Aziraphale's hungry gaze. Buffing the head of his cock with his palm, he let out the most sinful of sounds. 

"And Satan is okay to reference in these situations?" Aziraphale grinned, oh so pleased with himself as he watched a now comfortable, confident Crowley take himself in hand. 

"Yes, actually, Satan's all for temptations, and an Angel like you, they'd raise me to Duke status!" Crowley exclaimed. Aziraphale rolled his eyes at the ridiculous idea. Settling on his knees, he edged forward to press their two sexes together, humming his approval at the sight.

"Now, isn't that a pretty sight, my Duke?" He purred, watching in fascination as Crowley's palm shifted to envelop the two of them, smearing pre-come and saliva across to make the glide a thing of beauty. He followed along, bringing his palm to wrap around the opposite of Crowley's long fingers. Sword callouses scrapped across sensitive skin, and they both gasped in unison, seeking out their combined pleasure with moans and soft sighs. Their movements were becoming rushed, eager, desire of fire in his belly. Aziraphale ached for more. He wanted to be filled and fill the demon until both of them were drained and satiated.

He needed Crowley now, and there really wasn't a need to wait much longer.

Crowley was feeling much the same, and he bared his fangs at that steady build. "Not to say this isn't pleasant, but if you want to fuck, it's gotta be soon, or I'm gonna come all over that belly of yours."

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at the phrasing, dropping his touch down to the barest of flutters. "I wouldn't want that, you vulgar thing. But yes, I think you are right. Mind if I make a few changes?" He asked, not even bothering to wait for permission before he gave his body a slight adjustment. His now very feminine sex pressed eagerly forward to make up for the lost girth, pressing to the shaft of Crowley's cock. His grin widened as Crowley snorted and almost choked on his own saliva.

"Oh fuck, yes, do that." The demon groaned, eagerly shifting his hands to brush them down over Aziraphale's hairless mound. His fingers slide along warm folds, parting them to get to Aziraphale's warm center. He was already damp and ready for more. Oh, the privileges of being supernatural in nature, the humans had no idea what they were missing out on. Aziraphale gasped at the new attentions, and Crowley watched with open pleasure as the angel took his fingers with ease, shifting to straddle Crowley's legs once again and rocking his hips to seek out more friction.

Aziraphale gasped as Crowley's fingers sank in deep, thumb moving to glide over his clit with the slow, delicate brushes of someone who knew exactly how it felt to receive pleasure in such away. Crowley regularly manifested in whatever gender he preferred. He no doubt knew all the ins and outs of both sexes. As proven by those filthy digits as they pumped into Aziraphale, opening his eager entrance. "Oh!" Aziraphale whimpered, closing his eyes and riding Crowley's wrist with slow rolls of his hips. "That is-nnnn!"

"Lost for words Angel?" Crowley purred, dragging his other hand up the expanse of Aziraphale's belly and over to one hip. Guiding the angel's hips into a shallow roll onto his hand. Aziraphale was a vision, lost in pleasure, his breath turning into eager whimpers and needy sighs on his lips. Retreating for only a moment, he probed and eased a third finger inside, scissoring them through tight wet muscles. "That's it, get ready for me Angel, I want to fuck you until you can't breathe. Are you open and comfortable?" 

Aziraphale, blush high on his cheeks and lips bit between sharp white teeth, just nodded, and the fact that he was too blissed out to even speak was enough to make Crowley's need grow. 

"Come here." Crooking his fingers inside Aziraphale's hot core, he tugged playfully until the angel got the message and wobbled forward the few inches to bring his pretty little cunt above Crowley's eager cock. Easing his fingers out from within those tight folds, he took hold of himself and guided his cock to Aziraphale's entrance. 

The feeling of Crowley's tip as it rubbed over his soft opening was encouragement enough for Aziraphale to ease himself down onto that warm shaft. "Crowley?" He moaned, his voice breaking as he was breached, Crowley settling inside with a welcoming gush of fluid and a slide of hard muscle, spearing him thoroughly. 

"That'sss it angel, take me in." Crowley arched his back, breath hissing from his mouth as Aziraphale swallowed him to the hilt. Cursing, his hands bit into the soft flesh of the angel's hips, urging him down even as he thrust up the last inch or so to greet Aziraphale, skin slapping on skin. They both shouted, and Aziraphale fumbled, catching himself with one hand thrown back to grip Crowley's knees, the other slapping to balance itself on Crowley's belly. Crowley grinned, his gold eyes flashing as he began to urge them into that animalistic rhythm, manhandling Aziraphale up until the head of his cock peaked from the folds of flesh than spearing him back downward in a relentless glide.

Sitting up, he dragged them in close, lapping a line up Aziraphale's neck, his palm wrapped around that pale column, the other hand snaking up to thumb at Aziraphale's lips, urging the digit into his mouth. There was a warm pull of tongue and lips, broken by sweet angelic moans. Crooking his thumb, he shifted Aziraphale's mouth open, his forked tongue gliding in to take claim there too, even as he thrust his hips upward to breach Aziraphale in hard, urgent thrusts. The angel's breath came out in broken cries that misted against his lips, tinting his tongue with holy essence and overwhelming sweetness. It was a good thing he'd already fallen because this felt better than any of heaven's offerings.

"Nnnn!" Aziraphale clenched around the hot iron of Crowley's sex, his muscles parting and gliding, as pleasure coalesced into this building thing deep down in his core. His mouth was full of the taste of demon, wicked tongue tangling with his own in a manner most unusual. His hands couldn't get enough of the tan skin beneath him, dragging down muscular arms and across taught his belly. He could feel himself on the cusp of coming, his inner muscles tightening and clutching onto the hard shaft within him. "Please, Crowley!" He couldn't be sure what he was begging for. He just needed something more, just that little bit to get over the edge. 

What could he do if not listen to the beautiful thing that had hold of him? Twisting on the furs, Crowley took Aziraphale from his pedestal, dragging him down into the sweat-dampened bedding until he was on display beneath him, glistening in the hazy light of his aura. The light throbbed with the rapid beat of his heart. Crowley could feel the pulse of it against his cock where he was buried in Aziraphale's center. Taking Aziraphale's legs up at the knee, he urged them open, spreading pale thighs and slamming home into the ripe center of Aziraphale's greedy opening. Aziraphale shouted his approval, his feet extending into tight lines of pleasure on the hinges of his ankles where they dangled in the air. Crowley had done this enough as a female to know precisely what that meant. Turning his head, Crowley nipped at one adorable toe, his teeth biting into the bit of flesh playfully.

Aziraphale squawked, slapping Crowley's shoulder as he was tossed from the brink of ecstasy. "Don't do that, you damned ninny," He moaned, turning his sensitive feet out and away from snapping snakes. Crowley looked positively mischievous above him, and Aziraphale thought he could smite the man for deliberately distracting him. "You did that on purpose, you serpent." He lost the ability to protest past that as hips snapped forward, vicious and so so good. Crowley hit that spot just inside him, making his voice break in a shout of appreciation. His toes curled and stars flickering in his vision.

"There, Crowley!" He ordered, his words turning into a wail of ecstasy as the demon took him for his word, angling his hips just right to hit that little node again and again. Aziraphale rocked under the assault of pleasure. The only thing keeping him on the furs was Crowley's strong hands, where they held him at his knees. They yanked at the joints, dragging Aziraphale to meet every thrust head-on. "Hah, hah, ah!" Aziraphale shouted his approval, pressing a palm to his belly so he could feel the eager thrusting against it. 

"Are you wanting to come for me?" Crowley questioned, his voice dark with approval as he felt that growing tension building around him. 

"God, yes!" Aziraphale moaned, writhing beneath Crowley, his world nothing but hard penetration and the build-up of his own body as it was played out and tuned to Crowley's every move. 

"Language Angel." Crowley tssked, dropping one of Aziraphale's legs to slip a hand behind Aziraphale's head and tug on his white locks hard enough to bow the angel up from the bed. That put his chest in prime location, so Crowley took to one nipple with eager delight, showering it with attention so that the rosebud of it reddened and hardened against his tongue. Aziraphale's cries took on a desperate tone, his hips stuttering in their movements. Crowley growled against the angel's teat, thrusting down into that heat with ever-increasing gusto, his hand in the angel's hair stopping him from pulling away. 

Dropping his palm down, he slipped it between the folds of Aziraphale's sex. He took to working the pads of his fingers against the angel's clit, his hands relentless. That evoked quite the reaction, the sounds falling from Aziraphale's lips enough to burn a priest's ears.

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley's neck, and Crowley didn't resist as the flesh of his muscular biceps hemmed him in on either side and smothering him with the angel's presence. Fingers dug into his red hair, pulling in retaliation, forcing his face away from Aziraphale's chest and forcing him to his mouth. Crowley obeyed the demand, biting and sucking on plump lips, savoring the heady meet of lips and tongue and slick saliva. Around his cock, he could feel that growing tension pick back up, muscles tugging him deep with inward pulls. Blissful pressure making him groan into Aziraphale's full mouth. "Satan, come for me, Angel, you're so tight, so good for me." 

Aziraphale was a moaning, whimpering mess, driven mad by the pressure of fingers on his clit combined with Crowley's passionate thrusting. His nails raked lines down Crowley's shoulder blades from one particularly spectacular thrust. He was unable even to moan out an apology as he crested higher and higher, chasing that final peak. "Crowley! Ah!" Aziraphale arched on the bed, body tensing as he came with a guttural shout, clenching hard around that iron core inside of him. The light of his aura flickered out as he lost the ability to think beyond anything but pure, unholy pleasure, throwing them into darkness. He hardly noticed, too enraptured by the greedy play of his inner muscles clamping down on Crowley relentlessly.

Crowley didn't bother holding out against the sudden onslaught of Aziraphale's orgasm. It was a divine vise around his cock that had his sack drawing up against his body, urging him to spill within its depths. With a choked shout, he followed Aziraphale over the edge, spilling his seed deep within the angel's welcoming body.

In the center of the tent, the fire pit ignited with a swoosh of displaced air, burning merrily to the tune of Crowley's ecstasy and lighting them with the warm hues of its orange flames. "Fuckkk…" Cursing low under his breath, he gripped pale hips tight with his hands, rocking into Aziraphale's channel until his cock was spent, and the angel was seeping with his seed.

Aziraphale was high in the sky, drifting on a floating barge of ecstasy, his sex a pulsing, well used, ache between his legs. He gasped great gulping breaths of air as he looked up at the twined felt of Crowley's tent, unable to process anything past the singular most pleasureful moment of his life.

He knew his legs were splayed open in an inelegant sprawl, the muscles trembling from all their efforts. It was displaying his sex to the light of the fire and Crowley's snake eyes, but he could care less, too content to just ride the wave of endorphins his brain was currently releasing. 

Crowley chuckled breathlessly above him. "Look at you, Angel, so completely fucked. Gorgeous. You're positively ruined. Makes a demon proud," Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, turning his gaze to Crowley and his mussed hair. His chest glistened with sweat in the fire. Aziraphale's love bites marring the demon's skin in dark bruises. 

Yes, well, I am not the only one," He said with a giggle, tracing a finger down on of those marks for emphasis. Crowley primped under the attention, no doubt loving each visible love bite, showy fellow that he was. Crowley eked out of him in one slow glide, leaving his sex a throbbing, aching mess. Aziraphale whined unhappily at the displacement, "Oh, but dearest, I so like you in there." He admitted with a pout and a shiver as the room air took advantage of the sudden distance between them. 

"What a greedy beastie," Crowley said with a laugh eyes lingering on Aziraphale's open body. Dropping his hand down to cover those pink, dripping lips, he pressed a finger inside in an effort to keep his spend within. "Does that help?" He questioned, knowing it did just by the satisfied sigh that slipped from Aziraphale's lips. With a bit of shuffling, he managed to wiggle the two of them so they could lie more comfortably. Aziraphale took to the adjusting with ease, rolling onto his side so the Crowley could squeeze in behind him.

Crowley did just that, taking care to keep this hand right where it belonged before settling in close, soft cock burying itself between Aziraphale's lovely, plump, arse cheeks. 

Aziraphale kicked up one leg to give Crowley access, dragging furs to pillow his cheek and settling down with a contented sigh. Rolling his hips to ride that hand with slow, drowsy movement, his core weakly suckling at Crowley's finger. He could not bring himself to chase another completion, more interested in that full sensation than anything.

"Mmm…well, I did not expect the day to end like this!" He admitted jovially, watching the fire as it danced in cheerful delight, strong and healthy. There wasn't a log in sight anymore, nothing but coals and embers, but the fire sang on. The moon had long since begun to settle down in its final descent, and through the smoke hole in the ceiling, he could see predawn began to light up the sky. 

"All I wanted was to ask you for breakfast!" Crowley admitted with a chuckle of his own. It vibrated warm and sweet against Aziraphale's back. Crowley's lips fluttered and pressed to the bare skin of his shoulder, feather-soft and sinfully hot.

"Oh? Is that what you were going to say before that dolt with the sword intervened?"

"Yes, though any excuse would have worked," Crowley admitted, easing his fingers from within Aziraphale to press them possessively over the angel's stomach. They left sticky trails across Aziraphale's belly. He squeezed that slightly hard midsection with the wide-splay of his palm, smiling that even at his fittest, the angel still was soft edges and round curves. "It's almost breakfast anyway, could whip you up something?"

Aziraphale smiled, blushing into his fur pillow at how well Crowley knew him. "Maybe later?" He questioned, sliding his hand down to tangle his fingers with Crowley's in a contented sigh. "I would lay with you for a bit longer." He admitted, turning his head to peer over his shoulder and catch sight of Crowley's eyes.

They glittered as merrily as the fire, undimmed by the tragedy of the day, the smile on his lips said he had no thought of his almost run-in with death. Aziraphale thought it best not to remind him. Instead, he pursed his lips for a tender kiss.

"I love you, Crowley." He whispered.

Crowley sighed, knocking his forehead to Aziraphale's and pecking at tender lips with his own. "And I, you, Aziraphale." He admitted to periwinkle blue eyes. 

"Say it," Aziraphale demanded with a raised brow, a smile tugging the edge of his lips.

Trust the angel to push. Crowley groaned. "I _love_ you!" He hissed, the unfamiliar words spilling from his lips and burning his tongue with all the _good_ they contained. He pursed his lips and blew a raspberry against Aziraphale's cheek to try and rid himself of the sensation.

Aziraphale sighed happily at the proclamation, the sound turning to all-out laughter at the flubber of lips on his cheeks. "Does it hurt?" He questioned once he caught his breath, his words ringing of repetition.

"Satan, yes," Crowley admitted with a chuckle.

Aziraphale hummed. "Mmm…good. You'll get used to it."

* * *

Later, when Crowley had plied Aziraphale with offerings of fruit and eggs when the song of morning birds took to the wind on the heels of men readying for battle, he noticed something intriguing.

Pausing beside the tiny evergreen he'd taken in the previous fortnight, he considered its branches. "Angel? Did you heal my tree?" He questioned, taking in its vibrant new growth, bright green needles bursting from where the branches had once been wilted and brown. Aziraphale stepped up beside him, cozy and warm in his tan robe and leathers once more. His hand was curled around a mug of tea, the picture of contentment.

"Oh, look at that, it has come to seed." He chirped, reaching a hand around Crowley to brush a finger across a tiny little pinecone that hung from its highest branch.

"Well, I didn't make it do that!" Crowley said, puzzled. 

Aziraphale laughed, nudging his shoulder with his own. "You must have. I'm terrible with plants," He admitted, giving the new branches one final brush of his fingers before turning away. 

"Meh," Crowley shrugged his shoulders, turning away as well so he could snatch Aziraphale up from behind. "It was probably the both of us really, a bit of temptation and miracle mixed into one," He admitted, ignoring Aziraphale's disgruntled shriek as he pulled him back into his arms.

"My tea!" Aziraphale protested, dancing from spilling drops before giving up entirely and just flopping back against his demon.

"I'll make you more." Crowley purred, hands reaching for the tie to Aziraphale's robes.

"You better." Aziraphale hissed, turning in his arms. "You know, there's still a war brewing outside." 

Crowley paused at that, considering for a moment before making up his mind. "Humans will be humans, and war never ends. Let me love you, Aziraphale." Crowley whispered, pressing his lips to the angel's and looking into pale eyes. 

It was easier to say the second time around. 

Love....what an incredible feeling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I subscribe to the headcanon that these two are unimaginable experienced and the only thing that's been holding them back this whole time is the emotional bit. Poor Crowley needed some persuading but he gave in to Aziraphale in the end. Good lad!
> 
> The title to this episode still makes me giggle like a stupid school girl every time I read it....I'm an idiot
> 
> Comment, kudo, bookmark, do ye what you must!
> 
> Read on, Episode 5 is up!


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